Just get it over with, Tim thought, resigned. His jeans were pushed to his mid thighs and now his boxer-clad behind was on display for God and everyone to see. Nausea that may have been remnants of his morning hangover washed over him. The truck's hood was hot from the Texas sun beating down on it, and the boy's forearms and belly warmed as he leaned across it. The heat felt good on his stomach.
Images of his last whipping, from two summers back, flashed through his mind. The three Riggins men had gone over to a rodeo in West Texas. It'd been a long, hot drive and tempers began to flare. After a particularly mouthy comment, Tim found himself bent over the tailgate of his father's truck getting his bare ass blistered. Passing vehicles honked and some cheers could be heard. But at least then no one knew who he was. The teen sighed. He knew that the story of this whipping would be all over town by supper, if not sooner.
Billy brought his arm back and snapped the belt swiftly across Tim's backside. Damn, the boy thought, Billy ain't playin'. He winced but made no sound. As the belt slashed him a second time, he gritted his teeth and softly grunted. Everybody's watchin'. Don't be a baby! Tim's hair fell in front of eyes. The next lick smacked the top of his thighs. A hiss escaped his lips. I can't believe Billy's actually doin' this! The belt stung the same strip of skin again. Goddamn him! Actin' like he's Dad. Pain ran across the middle of Tim's backside. He clenched his fists and sucked his teeth. Asshole—. The belt snapped across the top of the boy's butt, almost at his lower back. The boy flinched and groaned.
Sorry, Billy thought. He made sure to aim better.
Tim winced as the belt met its target again. Football had helped the teen learn how to take pain. He gritted his teeth again and drew in a shuttering breath just as another slash landed. At least it will be over soon, he thought. He inhaled sharply as the next blow fell. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes. He could not cry. Suck it up, Tim repeated to himself. An involuntary groan escaped his lips. Dammit, keep it together. The following blow landed on his upper thighs and he partially raised up off the hood.
"Stay still, Tim," Billy murmured, sounding more tired than mad now.
The teen nodded and repositioned himself. With a sharp slap, more pain shot through Tim's throbbing backside. Please, please, please be over soon, he begged. Whack! The teen sucked his teeth and wished he had kept count. Smack! Surely they were well passed twenty by now. The belt whipped the center of the boy's backside, causing the first tear to fall. Tim ducked his head to make sure his hair still covered his face. He tried to take a deep steadying breath, but the next painful lick made it more of a gulp for air. Please, God, help me. Billy brought the belt down sharply and then let his arm dangle at his side.
"That was 17," the man said. "Done."
Tim swiped his arm across his face, stood, and quickly pulled his jeans back up. He turned to face Billy and Mr. Noble after he finished redressing.
When the boy looked up at the men, he quickly became aware that there were people stopped, watching the scene. Most of them went back to their activities now that there was nothing to see. Damn, the boy thought. The whole town will know by lunch.
"Mr. Noble," Tim said, once he thought he could trust his voice. "I'm sorry about being drunk and bustin' out your window. I can pay you back or work it off. Whatever you want." Then the teen added lamely, "I hope you can forgive me."
"You took your lickin' real well. An' it was nuthin' but a damn-fool stunt you pulled. 'Course I forgive you." Then Mr. Noble narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at the boy menacingly. "Now you ever show up 'round here drunk again, I'll have a hard time not callin' the law. You hear?"
"Yessir, I won't. I promise."
"Alright then. You can start workin' Saturdays, busin' tables and washin' dishes."
"Yessir, I'll be there."
Mr. Noble nodded and turned back to Billy. He stuck out his hand and they shook. "You're doin' a good job with this one."
"I ain't so sure," the young man confided. "I ain't good at settin' examples. I don't know…." His voice trailed away and Tim was surprised to hear his brother sounding genuinely uncertain, even anxious.
"Nah, you're doin' fine. …It don't get easier. But you'll get through it."
Mr. Noble patted Billy on the back and headed back inside the Alamo Freeze.
"Come on, Tim. Let's get goin'. We gotta get back."
"Where we goin'?"
"I'm takin' you back to school."
Tim gaped at him. "Billy, you can't be serious."
His older brother looked at him sternly. "You thinkin' you'd get to lounge around the house? Hell, no. We are goin' to talk to your teachers and get you back on the right track."